Page 107 of The Accidental Innkeeper

He nodded once and hesitated, just a beat too long. “I didn’t want to leave you without options,” he added.

“Right,” I answered, my tongue suddenly feeling too big and awkward in my mouth.

Because that meant he’d thought about me. About the inn. About what I’d need after he was gone. Just not about staying.

“I appreciate it,” I said, folding the card carefully, like if I creased it wrong, I might snap in half.

Around us, the party hummed. Glasses clinked. Someone laughed too loudly. And I could feel it, the watching. Eyes flicking over. People sensing something was happening and leaning in with their curiosity.

The redhead’s nails dug into Dust-guy’s arm. “We should go,” she said sharply.

Dust-guy glanced at her and then back at me. “Take care of yourself,” he said.

I smiled. It probably looked real. I’d had years of practice. “You too.”

He nodded again and then let Sabrina steer him away, her heels digging into the grass like she was staking a claim with every step.

I watched them go, watched the space where he’d been linger just a second longer than it should have.

Becca didn’t say anything. She just slid her arm through mine, solid and steady. And I was grateful for that.

“Well,” I said, feeling like a fool and like I’d just walked into a glass door I was convinced was open. It had happened before. “That was… interesting.”

She squeezed my arm. “You okay?”

I looked down at the card in my hand. Tom. Contractor. Backup plan.

“Yeah,” I said. Total lie.

Across the lawn, Dust-guy didn’t look back as he walked away and finally disappeared around the side of the inn with the redhead.

And for the first time since this whole ridiculous weekend had started, the party noise felt very, very far away.

22

SARAH

Iwatched as the last of the moving trucks pulled away, the ones that had hauled off the rented chairs and the stage compartments the crew had already taken apart and vanished with. The ocean breeze whipped my hair into my face and rattled the black garbage bag I still clutched like some kind of sad, crinkly security blanket. It was half full, which meant plenty more of humanity’s shame was still scattered across my lawn.

These women with money. You’d think disposable income would come with a basic understanding of trash cans. Or manners. Or gravity. But no. They’d tossed paper plates, plastic cups, and napkins directly onto the grass like they were feeding an invisible herd of raccoons with refined tastes.

Motherfrackers.

There had been garbage bins, multiple of them, strategically placed and practically begging to be used. Yet here we were.

It didn’t help that the wind had gotten involved. Plates and napkins had taken flight like they were making a break for freedom, which was how I now found myself halfway down the cliff at the edge of the property, crouched like a raccoon, retrieving soggy paper goods and whatever else these women had decided the earth could deal with.

Did none of them care about the environment? The wildlife? The fact that this was not, in fact, a landfill with ocean views? Apparently not. And apparently it was part of the inn owner’s job description to clean up after them like a polite, smiling servant who definitely wasn’t flipping them off silently while clutching a garbage bag.

I was pissed, deeply and profoundly pissed.

Pissed I’d let some man get under my skin. Pissed I’d been blindsided like an absolute amateur. And extra pissed, bonus pissed, that I’d had a full audience for my humiliation, complete with front-row seating and wine.

Awesome.

Just… truly a banner day for personal growth and emotional stability.

A seagull was swallowing what looked like a half-eaten shrimp roll on a plate a few feet away from me.